An ill wind...
A blustery July morning on the river Kennet, it was blowing a gale and the sun and rain couldn’t sort who was on duty so they took it in turns, the sort of day that makes you question your sanity. The wind was so strong that had it been from the right direction you could have dapped with a piece of chain and a meat hook on the end, ok maybe not quite that bad. So here I was, not sure if I should wear a raincoat or short sleeves or a fleece but first things first what was the water like?
I always like to look at the water before putting my rod together - why? I don’t know! I have never gone home yet without wetting the line, it is just one of those things I have always done. Today did look like it might be the first time ever that I would leave without fishing.
I walked along the bank and met another brave soul and we strolled along one of the carriers and discussed the meaning of life the universe and more serious matters like whether any fish would or even could rise without risking being whisked away in the wind. I seemed that wherever we stood the wind came from the wrong direction - were we going insane? No of course not, in my case insanity set in about many years ago when I first started fly-fishing.
We did see one fish rising just below a sluice and above a groin of rocks and of course under some overhanging branches - it may as well have been on another planet. My new found friend gave a good account of himself but the trout had not read the book that says when a skillfully placed cast misses the branches, has enough slack not to drag and goes perfectly over the fish – he is supposed to take it! We moved on and I pointed out a large fish lying in the main body of the river behind a stone and alongside some weed, this fish was hardly moving at all. The situation didn’t change when a fly was presented to him. I will come back to this lucky fish in a minute.
There were a few flies hatching and being whisked away like bad comedians in a rough club. Whenever the wind eased a bit and the ripple flattened, it was possible to see some good fish holding station and just resting.
I decided to walk back to the car and tackle up – I was here so I may as well fish, also my wife and daughter had given me license to be out as long as I liked (never waste opportunities like that).
My first choice was a pheasant tail nymph; this did not even raise a twitch from half a dozen fish that it was presented to. Back to the drawing board. Two problems were evident, the wind was making casting very difficult as the fly was getting blown everywhere except where I wanted it and secondly the fish were very deep. Obvious solution, a weighted nymph – I went with a beaded gold ribbed hare’s ear nymph. This produced almost instant results. One drawback of weighted nymphs is that they can make quite a splash when they land especially when the wind is strong and a delicate cast is not very easy.
The splashing of the nymph hitting the water produced a very strange response from the fish, it got their attention. Some of the fish were swimming as far as 4 or 5 feet to investigate and take the nymph. Maybe this is because they had not quite recovered from the madness of the mayfly hatches where anything splashing of the water gets their attention. Normally after a good period of Mayfly feasting the trout go off their food for a time. Or was this some buried response from their days in the trout farm where pellets are thrown onto the surface at feeding time.
After landing and returning two nice brownies I met my friend again and we discussed the splashing tactic. A little later on we met again and he told me that he had caught and returned two nice fish within a short time of changing fly and tactics
During the remainder of the day I landed and returned three more very nice brownies ranging from 2lbs. to well over 3lbs. At least one of these fish was fin perfect and looked to be a wild fish.
I mentioned earlier that I would return to the large fish in the main river and I did. On the first cast the fly splashed down in a very embarrassing way and within a second there was a large swirl and a flash of white as the mouth opened and closed. The fish darted off and it was then that I noticed that the fish I was connected to was not the fish that I had cast to; he was still sat there in the middle of the river behind his stone I was sure I could see him laughing to himself. When the brownie finally came to the net he was over 3lbs, I quickly returned him to the water and after a short rest he darted off again.
The challenges that a day like this offers the fly fisherman are many; keeping warm and dry could be high on the list but being able to see the fish because of the ripple and casting with any degree of accuracy are the keys to success. With some of the fish that took the fly, accuracy was not a problem but with others if the fly did not pass within an inch or two of their nose it was ignored. Some of the best fish seen during the day were tight into the bank and any overshoot would result in the fly wrapped around the vegetation, which is another problem with weighted flies they do love to wrap themselves around branches a bit like bolas thrown by a gaucho.
I think that I pricked, lost or missed more fish this day than I have for many years. A lot of this was the problem with visibility and the eagerness of some fish to attack the nymph with a slashing take as opposed to the usual gentle almost undetectable capture of the passing delicacy.
As they say it’s an ill wind that blows no good.